


All's Well

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4416767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the day of Sherlock and Molly’s fifth wedding anniversary, and not a single thing goes according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MagsyB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagsyB/gifts), [bakerst_sherlolly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerst_sherlolly/gifts).



> So I finally reached a huge milestone on Tumblr of 500 followers (::cheers::) and I took the second prompt I had gotten from my milestone/anniversary prompt thing on Tumblr and answered it for this occasion! The prompt came from the lovely **bakerst_sherlolly** and was _It’s the day of Sherlock and Molly’s fifth wedding anniversary, and not a single thing goes according to plan._ I took a slight liberty with the prompt as _technically_ this fic takes place over two days, but still. It's true to the "nothing goes right" spirit of things. Enjoy!

She woke up in bed alone. Knowing her husband, that could mean any number of things. It could mean he had had another sleepless night and didn’t want to wake her, or he could have gotten a case which caused him to rise early. Or, since it was a very special date and he’d had a tendency to like to make her smile, he could be planning to surprise her with breakfast in bed. It would be rather nice if that was the case, she thought to herself with a smile. It would be nice to see that even after five years of marriage there was still a spark there.

Oh, he could make her smile still. There were times he surprised her with takeaway after a rough day, or a new bath bomb from Lush she hadn’t tried yet, or the next book in whatever romance series she happened to be reading at the moment. They were small gestures but they meant a lot because, for Sherlock, even the smallest gestures were momentous. And she appreciated them, she did, and she made significant small gestures in return. But it seemed as though there were difference, now that so much time had gone by. It seemed more routine, more sedate. And while she still loved and adored her husband with all her heart, she wanted a little spice back.

She waited for a moment, listening to the stillness in Baker Street before realizing she wasn’t just in bed alone, she was in the flat alone. With a sigh she pushed the covers off of her and padded towards the loo. It was just as well, she supposed; she felt a bit off and while Sherlock had improved remarkably in terms of his culinary skills thanks to them cooking together as often as possible all she really wanted today was some toast with a little bit of marmalade and some coffee. An extravagant breakfast in bed would have been wasted on her.

Then she stilled. How long had it been since her last period? She thought back, trying to remember the last date, and she realized it had been over a month. She felt a small spark of hope spring up inside her. Could she maybe be pregnant? She and Sherlock had talked about having children but hadn’t been lucky so far, and while it wasn’t at the frustrating point just yet she was starting to wonder if something was wrong with her, if she was ever going to be able to have children. If there was a chance she was preggers, she should find out.

She did her business and then went to her bedroom, getting dressed quickly. She was just pulling on the boots she wore in inclement weather when she heard the front door close and feet pound up the stairs. “Sherlock?” she called out when she heard them come closer to the bedroom.

“I’d hoped you’d still be asleep,” he said, coming to the open doorway, bag in one hand and coffee tray in another. He stopped when he saw she was dressed already and his brow furrowed in confusion. “Needed at St. Bart’s so soon?”

She shook her head. “I was just going to pop into the market for…something,” she said, giving him a smile. “But it’s not important. You were going to surprise me with breakfast in bed?”

“It is our anniversary, after all,” he said with a nod. “Croissants. Freshly baked. And coffee, just the way you like it.”

She eyed the bag warily. Croissants were almost the same as toast. She finished putting on the boot and then stood, going over to her husband. Her stomach didn’t lurch as she got a whiff of the croissants, so she relaxed. She gave him a soft kiss and then took the bag from him. “They’re all mine, I take it?” she said.

“Well, I’d like at least one,” he said as she made her way back to the bed.

“I suppose I can spare one,” she said. She sat on the bed cross-legged and then set the bag on the bed. Inside were four huge croissants. She pulled one out and tore off a part of it, popping it into her mouth. Sherlock joined her moments later, setting the tray of coffee on the nightstand. “This was a nice gift. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. He pulled his own croissant out. “I thought I might kidnap you today. Go to the National Gallery since you enjoy it and then lunch somewhere nice, and then maybe back here for a few hours before the party.”

“But I have to do an autopsy for your case,” she pointed out. “So it would have to just be for lunch.”

“I forgot,” he said quietly. “I just thought you would appreciate some spontaneity.”

She set her croissant back in the bag, and then leaned over and turned his head so he was looking at her. She caressed his cheek softly at that point. “How about if I just do your autopsy and then I say I feel ill and need to take the rest of the day off? Then we can come here and spend a few hours alone until the party. I’ll miraculously feel better by then.”

He gave her a small smile. “I like that plan,” he said.

“I thought you might,” she said before leaning in to kiss him. He kissed her back, and she had to admit that even after five years of marriage she still felt a thrill run through her when he kissed her. She hoped this was something that never changed whether they were married for another five years or another fifty.

The sudden ringing of his mobile surprised her, and they pulled apart quite suddenly. He pulled it out and scowled at his phone. “Mycroft,” he said, answering the call. “Yes?” he asked. He listened for a moment, and then his eyes got wide. “Oh. Well…congratulations, then. No, I mean it. I’m happy for you both.” There was another pause, a rather significant one. “I’ll ask her and call you back later,” Sherlock said finally. Then he hung up.

“What was that all about?” she asked, confusion tingeing her voice.

“Andrea is pregnant,” he said slowly. “They found out this morning when she nearly vomited all over a member of a Taiwanese trade delegation who had on strong perfume. They are going to get married as soon as possible and our presence has been requested.”

Her eyes got wide. “Not today, I hope.”

“No, not today,” he said, and she relaxed. She adored Andrea and had a decent relationship with Mycroft, but she wasn’t fond of sharing her wedding anniversary with them. It had been a special day for her and Sherlock and she felt it deserved to stay that way. “But they were thinking at the end of the month. Andrea has requested to get married somewhere warm and they were thinking Barbados. It holds special meaning to them.”

“That sounds nice,” she said with a smile. “We can make arrangements by then to get me the time off.”

“I’m fairly sure Mycroft can do that for you, and much more effectively,” Sherlock said with a small grin. “I’ll call him back later and tell him that we will definitely attend, then.”

“And I’ll make it a point to call Andrea and give her my own congratulations,” she said, getting her croissant back out of the bag. She felt happy for her future sister-in-law, she did, but a part of her felt that if she was indeed pregnant it wasn’t going to matter now because all anyone would care about was Andrea’s pregnancy and upcoming nuptials. There was almost no point in finding out right now, aside from health reasons.

She and Sherlock ate their breakfast and chatted, and then she made a slight adjustment to her wardrobe to make it ready for work and gave her husband a kiss before they parted ways for the day. She decided against going to the market to get a test and just went to St. Bart’s to run a more accurate one herself. She got to her lab and proceeded to go to the loo for a urine sample and then run the test, waiting with baited breath. When she saw the positive result she smiled. Sherlock was going to be ecstatic. He had seemed keen on the idea of being a father, and she was worried he had given up on the idea, and provided things went well with her pregnancy now he wouldn’t have to.

She went into her office to go through the paperwork for Sherlock’s victim when the text alert for her mobile went off. She pulled it out to see it was from Mary. _Molly, I have some HUGE news!_ it said.

 _What is it?_ she replied.

There was a pause. _Melly’s getting a brother or sister soonish!_ Mary texted back.

Molly stared at her phone for a long minute. Andrea _and_ Mary found out they were pregnant today? And were telling people before she had a chance to tell anyone? Oh, God, for some reason she wanted to cry. She couldn’t help it. Andrea was getting a baby and a wedding, Mary had already gotten to go through all of this with Melinda, and this…this was her first child and by the time she got to tell anyone it would be received with a hint of boredom and “Oh, you too?” But she forced herself to text back _Congratulations, love_ before stowing away her mobile. She was supposed to be happy. Happy for herself, happy for her friends, and yet she felt incredibly sad. She didn’t want to feel sad, either. Hopefully, when she told Sherlock, things would get better. She picked up her mobile again, this time going to Sherlock’s number. _Can we talk?_ she texted.

There was a response minutes later. _Bit busy. May have to postpone afternoon plans. Is it important? SH_

She sighed. _No. Nothing important._ she texted back. _Love you, Sherlock._

 _Love you too, Molly. SH_ he texted back.

She stowed her phone for good this time. Nothing was going at all the way she wanted it to, and she absolutely hated it. She decided to busy herself with work and succeeded, finishing the autopsy of Sherlock’s victim in nearly an hour and getting the paperwork done shortly afterward. She started another body just because she needed to do something to keep from thinking, from feeling sad, and she was halfway done when the doors to her morgue opened and Sherlock came in. “Molly?” he asked.

“Your results are in the office,” she said without looking up.

He studied her and stayed quiet for a long moment. He then moved closer, watching her work. “I take it you will not be taking the rest of the day off,” he said quietly.

“I don’t want to think right now,” she said.

“Ah,” he replied before pausing for a moment. “And is there a certain thing you don’t want to think about?”

“Pregnancy.”

“Andrea’s, Mary’s or yours?” he asked.

She stood very still at that. “How…?” she asked, looking up.

“I have spent six years living with you, and I have very keen observational skills. I noticed you have not used any of the feminine products you usually use in the last few weeks, and on your normal cycle you would have by now, since your cycle is every twenty-one days instead of twenty-eight. Either there was an increase in stress in your life, which I doubted, or you were pregnant.” He searched her face, his expression hopeful. “Are you?”

She nodded slowly. “I’m five weeks pregnant,” she said.

It took a few seconds to register, and then his face broke out into the widest grin she had seen cross his face since they exchanged their wedding vows five years ago that day. “We’re going to have a child,” he said.

She smiled in response to the overwhelming joy on his face and in his tone. “Yes, we are,” she said with a laugh. “You’re going to be a dad and I’m going to be a mum.”

“This was honestly the best anniversary present I could have hoped for,” he said. “And I don’t care that Andrea and Mary beat you to the punch. Your pregnancy announcement is the only one that matters to me.”

“I’m glad,” she said.

He came over to her and pulled a small jewelry case from his suit pocket. “I had thought you might have been upset that they were pregnant and you weren’t and you wanted to dash our plans and spend the day working, so I made sure I brought these with me so I could give them to you before the party tonight. Apparently sapphires are an appropriate fifth anniversary gift.” He opened the case and Molly’s eyes widened as she saw a pair of earrings with three sapphires, each shaped in circles, going from smallest to largest one on top of the other.

“They’re lovely,” she breathed, looking up from the earrings to Sherlock. “I’d kiss you, but…”

“But you have blood and bodily fluid on your hands at the moment and it would not be a good idea for you to pull me close,” he said. “Do you want me to take these back home with me?”

She nodded. “I’d worry something would happen to them if they stayed here,” she said. She gestured back to the body. “But if you want to wait a bit, you can take me back home with them, when I’m done with this.”

“I’ll go over the autopsy report, then,” he said with a nod, closing the box and stowing it back in his pocket. He leaned over, staying away from her hands, and kissed her cheek softly before going into her office. She had a huge smile on her face while she finished what she was doing, and then she emptied the stomach contents from her victim. She caught a whiff of it and felt ill, so very ill. She quickly got them into the container and then bolted for the bucket she offered the nervous visitors to her morgue and retched out her breakfast. The office door opened quickly and Sherlock came out. “Are you all right?”

“No,” she said weakly. “There’s some foul odor emanating from her stomach.”

Sherlock knelt down next to her and rubbed her back as she heaved again. Nothing else came out, and after a moment he made his way over to the woman on her table. He bent over just slightly and then went and hit the button for a biological hazard in the morgue. An alarm sounded throughout the room.

“Sherlock?” Molly asked, her eyes wide.

“I get the feeling our plans for our anniversary have been derailed,” he said. “I think we’ve been exposed to biological contamination.”

“Wonderful,” she said sourly. She knew what that meant: a full desterilization shower, being monitored for twenty-four hours and lots of poking and prodding for tests.

“At least we will be together,” he said.

She gave him a very small smile. “Yes, there is that,” she said. That was, as far as she could tell, the only upside to this entire situation: at least she would still get to spend her anniversary with her husband.


	2. Chapter 2

The twenty-four hours of mandatory quarantine felt like the longest twenty-four hours of her life. She and Sherlock weren’t allowed their mobiles and everything had to be sterilized, including her anniversary present. Sherlock had managed to get word to his brother that they should all go ahead with the party since the catering and the hall deposits were non-refundable and everyone was going to be there anyway, so while her friends were enjoying her anniversary party she was in hospital scrubs crammed on a too small hospital bed with her husband because she didn’t feel like sleeping alone.

When they were finally released the next afternoon, they made their way to Baker Street, tired and grumpy. Neither had gotten a very good night’s rest, as they had both been worried about what they had been exposed to and if it could have harmed the baby, but it turned out the woman had cysts in her stomach that had gotten infected and those cysts rupturing had been what had released the noxious odor, so there were no biological contaminants in their system. All Molly wanted to do was lie down and catch up on all the rest she didn’t get the night before and enjoy some quiet time alone with her husband where she wasn’t being constantly observed by medical staff.

Sherlock opened the door and then took off his coat. They had all their clothing back and everything that had been on their persons including, thankfully, her earrings. Not that she had gotten the chance to show them off. She could do that later, she supposed. He hung his coat on the rack and then took Molly’s when she handed it to him. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sherlock, it’s all right, honest,” she said, reaching over to hug him. “I was a few minutes away from doing the same thing, once I was done dry heaving.”

He held her close. “But I ruined our anniversary.”

“But _I’m_ the one who chose to autopsy another body instead of playing ill after your victim,” she said, resting her cheek on his chest. “So really, if we’re playing the blame game, it’s my fault.”

He set his chin on her head. “I’ll make it up to you. Dinner somewhere nice and dancing, if you’re up to it.”

“What I’m up for now is a warm bath with a bath bomb in it and some hot tea and some snuggling with my wonderful dear husband afterward,” she said, pulling her head away to look up at him with a smile. “And maybe a nice, long nap.”

“I could go for all of that too,” he said. “Minus the bath.”

“Then you go make the tea and then bring it to me in the loo and sit there with me while I soak,” she said as she pulled away. She made her way up the stairs to the sitting room and stopped at the sight. “What on earth…?”

Sherlock was a few steps behind and stopped as he looked around. There were at least thirty silver vases on all the available spaces, each of them filled with bouquets of daisies. Interspersed between them and nearby them were framed pictures of Molly and Sherlock together in wooden frames. Some were large pictures, some were small. Some were colored pictures, some were sepia toned and some were black and white. Some of the frames were square, some were oval and some were rectangular. Some of the frames had sayings carved into them. There were more pictures than vases, at least fifty pictures. Hanging on the wall was a banner that said “Happy Fifth Anniversary!” and on the table by the kitchen was a very large card. Molly picked up the card and saw that it was signed by everyone who they had invited to their anniversary party the day before.

“I wonder who did this,” Sherlock mused, picking up a frame that had a picture of Molly drawing a music note on Sherlock with face paint for a hospital fundraiser.

“Mary and John,” Molly said with a smile as she read the sticky note on the inside of the card. ‘Dear Molly and Sherlock. We didn’t think it was at all fair that we enjoy your anniversary party while you two suffer at the hospital, so we contacted everyone and told them to bring a picture they had of the two of you and if they could a wooden frame, since wood is the traditional fifth anniversary gift. As you can see, we had loads. And John and I bought out all the daisies from six different florists. Sorry not all the vases are real silver! We tried to do as many appropriate fifth anniversary things as we could but we didn’t have much time. Oh, and there’s at least three meals worth of leftovers from catering in your refrigerator, so at least you won’t have to worry about dinner for a bit. Love and kisses, Mary.’”

“That was very kind of them,” Sherlock said as he came behind Molly.

“Yes. It was a very nice surprise to come back to,” she said, turning to look at him with a smile. “We should call and thank them.”

“After I get some time alone with you, I think,” he said. “We only have about eight more months of that left.”

“That is true,” she said, putting her arms around his neck. “I think I could do without the bath or the tea and move straight into going to the bedroom and snuggling with my husband and seeing where that leads.”

“I very much approve of this plan,” he murmured before leaning in and kissing her. Their anniversary might not have gone as planned, but some good had come out of it and really, in the end, they were still happy and still very much in love and that was what truly mattered.


End file.
